Scarlet Stab and Water Wheezes

The salt-stung wind, a ragged thief, stole whispers from the edge of my coat, the ocean's breath, a heavy sigh. Crimson bled across the horizon, a raw wound in the sky, the sun, a molten coin, slipped through grasping cloud-fingers. Each wave, a restless beast, clawed at the shore, a rhythmic, thunderous pulse, like a drumbeat of despair. My thoughts, scattered shells, broken and smooth, lay exposed, mirroring the tide's relentless retreat. The sky, a canvas of bruised violet and burning orange, a dramatic stage where light wrestled with encroaching dark. Memories, like phantom ships, sailed across the churning sea, their sails tattered, their masts splintered, their cargo lost. A sudden chill, a skeletal hand on my shoulder, reminded me of the fleeting dance of light and shadow, the ephemeral beauty, the inevitable decay. And I wondered, as the last sliver of sun vanished, if the ocean's vastness mirrored the emptiness inside, or if it was simply a reflection of the endless possibilities that remain. ©bfa031225